


The fact that your alive is a miracle (just stay alive, that’ll be enough)

by DormantAshes



Series: It’s all fair in love and war (therefore we all should suffer) [10]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, F/M, Guilt, Hallucinations, Heartache, Intrusive Thoughts, Loneliness, Nostalgia, PTSD like symptoms, Regrets, Sort Of, Strained Relationships, the slow down fall of Wilbur soot, undiagnosed mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DormantAshes/pseuds/DormantAshes
Summary: Hewwo I come with more angst, more Hamilton quotes.I have nothing much to stay besides I hope you enjoyed and thought yall would like to know my girlfriend thinks it’ll be really funny if they defeated schlatt by just pushing him into a lake because the bitch can’t swim.Anyway have a great day! :)
Relationships: Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot
Series: It’s all fair in love and war (therefore we all should suffer) [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1943179
Comments: 9
Kudos: 100





	The fact that your alive is a miracle (just stay alive, that’ll be enough)

The part of him that craves home hums under his skin. Pogtopia doesn't bring comfort, there is no warmth, no love.

For the first time in a long time Wilbur feels alone again. Except this time its different.   
  
This time it hurts. 

He knows what its like not to be lonely, to spend evenings with a partner. He remembers the taste of food cooked for evenings under the stars together. He knows the sound of laughter, one that stains him pretty. A private flush of skin.   
  
It frustrates him. Evenings in the cavern are empty, Tommy holds no youthful energy to fill the place. He misses home too. There are no stars and meals cooked for two. Theres no laughter and warmth to ink your skin, painting you in love.   
  
There is only coldness and failure that paint the scenery.   
  
He clings to hope a way the way a dying man clings to his soon-to-be widow. This sinking feeling of _I wish we had more time together._ Words fumbled out of a dry mouth, praying to be heard.   
  
Wilbur is met with silence. Lost in his own lonely ideals of what he should have done.   
  
He should have kissed her.   
  
Even when he was a leader, he was a coward.   
  
He should remind himself he still has Tommy, and Technoblade. But the reminder serves no comfort. Technoblade is nothing but an anarchist (if they win will he turn against them? How deep is his loyalty?) And Tommy...   
  
Tommy doesn't look at Wilbur the same. Theres a childish anger whispering under his skin, (dis)placed blame on their situation. Wilbur understands, war has given him thick skin, he can take the cuts to his name. He deserves it. He just wishes Tommy to behave accordingly, see the future consequences.  
So yes, Wilbur is lonely. He misses home. Misses Nikki.   
  
On nights like this, in Pogtopia, the campfire serves the only shed of light into their survival. Wilbur doesn't know where Technoblade sleeps, he guesses near the farm, Tommy no longer sleeps near him, retreating to his on secluded area, an action which he understands, but hurts him none the less.   
  
His nights are alone. Cold, damp rocks and gravel as companionship.   
  
_Fuck this._ He thinks. _Fuck all of this._ He's not spending another night in misery. No he's going to-   
  
Okay so he doesn't know what he's going to do but he does know his feet are moving and they're going to keep moving till his heart stops aching.   
  
_Where is my home? My magnetic north?_   
  
He steps into the colden air of the night and begins to move. Let his mind loosen from its restraints of the caven's guilt ridden existence.   
  
He loses himself in the beat of his steps. Counting each one to a song of a dead man, there is an anger in his blood. One that hums to life under the freedom of the moonlight. A beast beginning to grow in his mind, spread itself down to his fingertips, seizing control.   
  
A voice in his head sneers: _let yourself be known. Fulfill your purpose._   
  
The voice builds and more add to. An overwhelming chorus, chanting to do it. Do it.   
  
**DO IT.**   
  
Wilbur realises he's stopped breathing. A gasp of cold air silences his mind.   
  
He is a leader. He has to save his home.   
L'manburg must be saved.   
  
Wilbur comes to and see he's in Manburg. The path under his feet being one he has walked a hundred times. He has no weapons, no shield or armour.   
  
Wilbur is not a man of violence, he uses his words, and that is how it will stay. He's sure of it.   
  
He just to needs to remind himself of that.   
  
But as he looks at the flag his son made, his morals waver. Just for a second theres a whisper of what if? Its gone before he can process the thought.   
  
He moves around the same way a stranger walks around a graveyard. He feels disconnected from the land, the atmosphere making him mourn for something he does not know.   
  
Except he does know, yes remind yourself, this is your home. He will get his home back. Wilbur needs to stop feeling so defeated.   
  
L'manburg is **his**.   
  
He sees Tommy's old holiday away home. Remembers him saying how there resources there, not his but left there for taking. Wilbur's mind reconnects to reality and he remembers they are wanted men. Men surviving.   
  
_Show me your heart my love, where does it ache? How can I sooth your pain?_   
  
He climbs his way to the home. Make this trip actually worth something besides an internal battle of hope.   
  
He moves passed Henry who is sleeping, opens the door to darkness. The light being the only thing creeping in. The bed is unmade and the barrels are skewed about half hazardously. He should hurry, but he lets the moonlight soak into his skin and dip him into the feeling of illusion. Time does not exist at night.   
  
He opens one of the barrels, a gently _click_ seeps into the air. Bringing a torch to his hand he lights it and looks in.   
  
Theres food, lot of it, all wrapped in a fabric Wilbur knows too well.   
  
Nikki.   
  
Had- did- were these for them? Had she really gone through all the trouble?   
  
Wilbur is filled with a deep longing, a sudden wave of painful yearning. The need to scream wrapping round his tongue in feral want yet he clamps his mouth shut, tenses his jaw until he can breathe out smoothly.   
  
"Wilbur?" For a moment he thinks its real, but the voice feels a little too soft, too pained. He jumps, stumbling back into the barrels leaving them to tumble over him as his scrambles to the wall.   
  
_Oh Icarus, why is there such surprise in your fall?_   
  
The figure is one Wilbur has not stop thinking about. Nikki stands there, eyes wide with a torch to her, illuminating her in such tragic beauty.   
  
"Wilbur?" She steps foreward and Wilbur tries to pull his thoughts together, his mind has been fragmented for so long he can't ground himself in the moment. This is it, he's finally cracked, the world around him is a desperate illusion.   
  
She slots the torch into its holder and stumbles into his arms, she lets out a suddered breath of relief holds him as tight as possible. Wilbur's mind slots into place. The world sofening around him as he slowly holds her.   
  
No illusion can mimic her love.   
  
This is her. This is her. This is her.   
  
She moves away to look at him, see the tiredness in his eyes.   
  
"I've missed you so much." Shes almost teary as she reaches up to hold his face. Wilbur basks in her affection, soaking each second of it, a starving man. 

His name is Wilbur Soot, he is a leader to this revolution. He is going to take back his home.   
  
He is not going to be a coward. Not this time.   
  
He opens his eyes, a slow love struck movement, his gaze meets Nikki's. He moves slowly, leaning upright. They've kissed before, quiet sheltered moments just for the two of them. But its always her doing it. Her initiative. Her declaration.   
  
He leans forward with a lot less grace and suddenly freezes up.   
  
"Can I kiss you?" He murmurs, his breath on her lips, lips which curl to a smile.   
  
"One way to fin-" he lean in and kisses her. Pours all his love into the action, wants her to know that he is hers and always hers.

Regardless of the revolution, regardless of the exhile, regardless of his mental state he is hers if she wants him. He wants her to know that he will love her until all the sunsets have happened, until all trees have grown, until all flowers have bloomed. He will love her until the ocean dries out and the all the birds have sang their song. He will love her if they are together or if they can never be. If they are next to each other, across the room or a thousand miles away. She will always be loved by him even if fate has given them a different story. 

He is forever devoted to her, as long as she will have him.

"Stay," she whispers sweetly.

He does.

**Author's Note:**

> Hewwo I come with more angst, more Hamilton quotes.
> 
> I have nothing much to stay besides I hope you enjoyed and thought yall would like to know my girlfriend thinks it’ll be really funny if they defeated schlatt by just pushing him into a lake because the bitch can’t swim. 
> 
> Anyway have a great day! :)


End file.
